


Equals

by Nikkitosa



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-02-09 06:58:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12882558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkitosa/pseuds/Nikkitosa
Summary: This is me challenging myself to write drabbles for each and every day of December. Be prepared for lots of angst-y Loki, naughty Loki, mischievous Loki and dominant Loki. Pretty much Loki all over the place, the way we like him.





	1. Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Side note #1: The chapters are not in chronological order, a.k.a. in one they will be friends, while in other - lovers.   
> Side note #2: I have tried and mixed some of the Norse mythology concepts of Loki with Marvel Loki, so sorry if you end up not liking it.   
> Side note #3 : The titles of the chapters indicate the prompts. I had to improvise as there weren't many writing prompts out there, so I might have picked bits and bobs from different places (oops...)   
> Hope you enjoy ~

The caves were consumed by darkness. The further in she went, the colder it got. Dagger-like stalactites were lurking in the shadows, becoming visible moments before collision. The floor was a maze of huge stalagmites, reaching up towards their other halves. This dawdled the descending. Calliope found the atmosphere melancholic and rather depressing, dampening her mood. The biting coldness didn’t help, either. Wrapped in furs, the layers did little to protect her skin from the crisp underground draft; she could feel her limbs growing numb. The tingling sensation had started from the tip of her fingers and had now spread all the way to her elbows. Upon movement everything felt odd, as if they weren’t really a part of her.   
Each step reverberated in the daunting silence, growing louder as it reached the ceiling, bouncing off the shapes there and then making its way towards the other end of the tunnel, fading away. It almost sounded as if she had ten more people with her, all of them walking slightly off-pace with one another. The light from her torch dispersed the shadows, scattering them away; as soon as she had passed, though, they closed behind her like the claws of a predator.   
With her body growing numb, her senses had sharpened and soon enough she could detect another presence further down the tunnel. It watched her zigzag around the monstrous shapes of the stalagmites, slowly making her way down. It waited.   
She had been monitored since the second she walked in, hours ago. Moving with her, a couple of paces further ahead, or trailing behind, the figure had not even once, in any way, hinted of its presence – not a slip, not a sigh, not a step too loud. She had been tracked with a frightening persistence, with unfathomable patience.   
Cold, tired and angry, the young female warrior felt herself grow restless. Nonetheless, having gotten this far, she pulled her fur coat firmer around her body and proceeded to slip into the belly of the mountain, following the tunnel’s meandering path, hoping that the one she sought was still here.

*

His skin was blue. That’s the first thing she noticed upon finally getting face to face with the presence that had been following her for hours. Not the blue that takes over after Death gives you its parting kiss, but the type that colours the sky on a sunny day. And to her greatest horror, he was pretty much half-naked – the fur cloak draped across his shoulders was more an addition to his appearance that anything else. Just the mere sight of him made her shiver. Here she was freezing her toes off while he was lounging, topless, in what looked like a stalagmite throne.   
His black hair had grown longer, reaching way past his collarbones, brushing against his chest, drawing attention to the heavy gold necklace that dangled from his neck. There was something regal in his mildly dishevelled form – a reminder of who he truly was.   
“What foolish quest brings you here?”  
His voice was as sweet as honey; however it had retained some of the frost of his new domain. Calliope met his eyes. Red as blood, redder than her hair, they were zeroed on her as if that was enough to chase her away. He wanted to intimidate her, to tire her, to bring the coldness of this place into her bones, into her very soul and break her – send her running up that hill, away from here, away from him.   
“I’m here to bring you back home.”  
Rasp and husky, her words came out like a whisper, so she had to repeat them, louder this time. She was so awfully, irreversibly cold.  
Laughter. Cold, mirthless, snapping laughter. Whisked by the vastness of the hall, it grew and stretched, cutting the silence like a dagger, leaving a gaping wound behind. Calliope’s skin prickled. Nothing good would follow when the God of Mischief laughed like that. She frowned. She hadn’t expected him to come willingly, or to receive her with open arms and a burning fireplace. Yet she would not be laughed at.   
“I have no home. I belong nowhere.”  
That made her halt. There was a striking contrast between what he said and his sinister laughter. An evident sting of resignation.  
“Bullshit.”  
The word slipped past her lips without her mind’s approval and it collided with the still air like a stone thrown at a window – with a loud shattering crash. She was angry at him for sulking here, in this freezing hellhole, isolated, resigned and defeated. He was not the Prince that she had admired for his brains whenever she went to Asgard. This shell, a mere hollow wrap, was not the man who fought to prove his worth. Not the one who did mischief as he went, as if it was his second nature, not the one who tried to trick her. Her, a warrior the Asgardians feared and respected. Her, who was as apt with magic as him, who was almost as smart and cunning, who didn’t take any shit from anyone. Loki was the only one who dared to cross her, as if he didn’t care what she would do to him once she caught him. He, who was fearless and bold, borderline idiotic at times; who was nimble and cunning and funny and educated, who was snarky and filled with banter and always had an appropriate comeback up his sleeve. The warrior with the horned helmet and the daggers that moved so fast she struggled to see them when they sparred. All those little quirks she had grown to adore and admire. All wiped clean off of him. The man sitting on that frozen chair was not the Loki she had come to bring back home.   
“I beg your pardon?”  
“You have been sulking here like a kicked puppy for long enough.” She climbed the steps leading to him, her words loud and clear. “I tried to be patient and understanding and a good friend, but this is getting ridiculous.”  
Loki made a move to stand up; a true gentleman or a just to make sure she would not end up towering over him like an angry mother hen. A hand on his shoulder plopped him back down. She was not finished.  
“I know how much it sucks being lied to, not knowing who you are, feeling lost and unappreciated and abandoned. I know what you are going through, I truly do. You think life’s all better back there now that you are gone? It’s not. Thor’s sulking like a five year old, and he’s making sure people are well aware whose fault it is. No one is having a celebration that you are finally gone. So suck it up, or Heavens help me, I’ll drag you out of this hell kicking and screaming if I have to.”  
By this point, absorbed by her speech, Calliope had pinned Loki down, her hands pressing his down, her body between his spread legs, her face not far away from his. She was consciously intimidating him by stepping into his comfort zone in a manner he detested. Anything to get his old self to resurface.   
Silence felt heavy and suffocating after her words. The air was charged with emotions and magic, sizzling and tossing like snakes. If nothing else, her rant had warmed her up enough to bring colour to her face. Red blotches stained her cheeks and the tip of her nose, giving her a slightly comical look that Loki found amusing. Having leaned back in his throne, he examined this intruder that had so daringly, blind for all danger, walked into his lair and demanded his return. The only visible part of her was her face, everything else was tightly wrapped in furs, but he knew that even those did little against the frost down here. As a Jotun, he didn’t feel or mind the temperature drops, but she definitely did and for a split second he wondered how much more coldness could her body sustain before irreversible damage occurred, or even death.   
“Touching,” his voice was low and sarcastic, meant to sting, “but now can you please get off of me?”  
The sound of her teeth click as she gritted them made something in him jolt. Calliope was known for keeping a cool and collected façade for a long time, but once she was past her limit, that was that.   
Next thing Loki knew, she had yanked him forward by the necklace, making their foreheads knock against one another. Tête-à-tête, she stared straight into his eyes with pure, unadulterated resolution. Her irises, resembling liquefied gold, clashed with his red ones. There was no fear, no repulsion, no plea in that gaze. It was a look that told him she’d drag him out of here if she must, and there was no force in this dimension or the next that could change her mind or stop her.   
“Let me be, Callie. I do not belong in Asgard, among its golden walls and pure-blooded warriors. I’m a monster. My place is here, in the shadows and frost.”  
It was that resigned philosophy, the mingling hurt and irrevocable sadness in his voice that made something in her snap.   
“Fine then. Have it your way.”  
Hurt flashed in his eyes, too fast to be spotted if you weren’t looking, but Calliope was. He believed she had finally given up on him and was about to leave him alone down in this hole. What a fool.  
“If you wanna sulk and hide, so be it.”   
With that said, she sat down on the ice, leaned against his throne and allowed her aching feet to stretched out and rest. Surprisingly enough, if nothing else, she could sense the numb pulsation caused by exertion.   
“What are you doing?” He looked down at her, perplexed and vaguely worried.  
“Waiting.”  
“Waiting?”  
“Waiting for some common sense to finally seep back into you. Or for the cold death to claim me. Either way, I’m not moving.”  
No response followed. Only the low popping of the flame of the torch. It was growing weaker, there wasn’t much life left to it, so sooner rather than later they’d be engulfed in the impenetrable darkness of the hall. If Loki had managed to survive down here for the past couple of months, so could she.  
After a while, his voice broke the silence.  
“You are going to die if you stay much longer, you know that right?” The words sounded warmer, softer.  
“I’m not gonna leave you alone.”   
She wasn’t looking up, so she didn’t see the emotions that appeared on the god’s face. The conflict that displayed itself in his eyes, the way his eyelids fluttered for a brief second. She didn’t see his skin change, the blue reseeding, allowing ivory patches to appear.  
Instead, dizzy and drowsy, tired and hungry and cold, Calliope suddenly found herself nodding off. She just wanted a nap – not long, a few minutes, enough to collect her strength.   
Halfway asleep, her body tilted dangerously sideways. Suddenly her senses snapped back into action, startling her awake. She was off the ground and securely held in Loki’s arms. The thick darkness had dissolved, leaving a softer alternative lingering in the night’s air. The coldness was gone as well. Instead, the warm night’s breeze caressed Calliope’s face. Trying to wake up, she missed to notice Loki leaning down. He nuzzled her neck affectionately, the tip of his nose cold against her skin. That brought her round with a small yelp.  
“You silly woman.”


	2. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calliope has been away for longer than expected. Loki doesn't really understand the notions of patience and privacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a sex scene, and a brief female-Loki action. You have been warned.

Who would have thought a diplomatic mission would take so long? Almost a month after her arrival, Calliope found herself growing impatient with those royal imbeciles. Everything said in their so called “meetings” was vague, inadequate, lacked proper in-depth research or was not applicable. They painted glorious battles, drenched in blood and glory and unquestionable victory, without anyone actually having any clue how to execute any on it. As time dragged on, Calliope understood why the All-Father had insisted that she should be the one to go. Those men were incapable of composing a coherent sequence of ideas, let alone forge a plan that would withstand the pressure of a battle. Generals only in title, none of them had actually gone into battle in the last couple of centuries. They were old, rusty, their shining armours covered in a layer of dust. To balance things out, Odin had sent her - new refreshing influence into a cauldron of antiquity.  
As a woman in a male-dominated Hall, Calliope was expected to remain silent, a shadow in the corner, and voice no opinions or objections, but merely nod. An observant that would later report to the All-Father what has been decided. Aware of this perception of her role there, Call remained distant for the first couple of days, scouting around the place, studying all the men present, listening to what they had to say. By the end of the first week, she had composed a very concise report to the All-Father, informing him of her predicament - stranded in a hall filled with incompetent, misogynistic mummies, glorified antiques who disregarded her as if she was part of the décor; and also that it might take a while for her to get back.  
Three weeks later and she was ready to fight her way out of the Great Hall. Pushed beyond her limits, Calliope could just about manage a façade of civility whenever she ran into any of the other occupants. It took a while to get her voice heard during the meeting, which was primarily achieved by shoving her sword through the table and splitting it in half with the promise that the next man that dared degrade her because of her sex would suffer the same faith. After that, she spoke. Quick, crisp words, forged with arguments; seeping with power and authority. Needless to say, none of this was taken nicely. So yet another table went the next day. Until finally, they were paying attention, mostly out of fear she’d stab them than anything else, but they were listening. And letting it settle into their minds. Considering it, though begrudgingly. By the end of the forth week a form of agreement had been reached and Calliope was finally free to go. 

*

After a brief audience with Odin, during which she summarised everything that had happen and expressed her displeasure of being held back by bureaucracy and royalties any further, she went to her quarters.  
Calliope hadn’t been one to indulge in the luxuries of life before arriving in Midgard. However, a hot bubble bath, a glass of red wine and a nice candle appeared like a mirage in front of her, tempting her to move faster, get back to her rooms sooner. The second she entered the chamber, she stripped of her clothes and went to the adjoined bathroom, where she already found the tub filled to the brim. A few minutes later, there were bubbles and the calming scent of lavender filled the air.  
Wrapped in the soothing embrace of the water, with a couple of candles casting faint luminescence here and there, and a goblet of wine sitting within an arm’s reach, Calliope breathed a sigh of content and closed her eyes.  
“Bliss.”  
“I couldn’t agree more.”  
The unexpected male voice snapped her out of her drowsiness. Looking up, she saw Loki leaning against the door, gazing at her in a way that almost made her blush. Rarely would the God of Mischief be so bold in showing his desires, but at that very moment his lust was almost palpable in the air. If Calliope’s whole being hadn’t been so exhausted and strained, she’d have happily obliged. Being as knackered as she was, however, she just leaned back.  
“It’s courtesy that you knock before you enter, Your Highness.”  
“I was left with the belief that I was expected.”  
“And what induced such wishful thinking?”  
Even with her eyes closed, Calliope could sense his smirk. Nothing exhilarated him as much as a verbal battle.  
“You should know better than to leave me waiting for so long, my sweet.”  
He was behind her, sitting on the cold marble, his mouth by her ear. The words were whispered sensually, but the underlying warning in them made Calliope’s body tense.  
“I was delayed against my consent, Your Highness. So do excuse me if I desire to spend my night in a less arduous manner.”  
“You deny your prince?”  
As any spoiled royalty, Loki was unaccustomed to being denied. He found something tempting and exhilarating in being challenged. By humouring him in all his little games, no matter time or place, Callie had not done herself a favour.  
“I spend a whole month amongst arrogant and pretensions men. Currently I want nothing more but to rest. Do forgive me if I’m in no mood to entertain you.”  
That came out harsher than she had wanted it to, but the fatigue was finally catching up with her, and there was little she could do to maintain her voice levelled. Was solitude and rest too much to ask for?  
With his lips lingering against her neck, she could sense a grin appearing briefly, enough to realise that the battle was not yet over.  
“Loki…”  
There was a warning in Calliope’s voice. A wiser man would have gotten the hint and let her be; return in the morning when she would be less grumpy. The Asgardian prince was no such man. He was a trickster, a silver-tongued mischievous male, who also happened to not take ‘no’ for an answer. Just her luck.  
His presence retreated without a warning, and a part of her felt let down. Had he actually given up so easily? Water sloshed. Another body had submerged itself into the warm depths and there was little Callie could do to suppress a groan of irritation.  
“I swear to God-”  
“No need to swear to me, my sweet. But if you insist, I’d gladly hear your pledge.”  
Her eyes snapped open upon hearing the voice. Soft, melodic. Feminine. True to her guess, there was a dashing female gazing lustfully at her from the other end of the tub.  
“What in the name of everything holly do you think you are doing, Loki?” It was amusing how distress and panic managed to make her voice sound so squeaky.  
“You said you were tired of men, so I obliged. Does this form please you better?”  
It was a lustrous form. Long jet black hair cascaded down slim body, contrasting against alabaster skin. A pair of familiar green eyes stared at her from underneath thick eyelashes, round lips pulled into a smirk she adored. Even as a female, Loki had preserved the mischievous aura that always surrounded him. The woman in the other end of the tub would be any man’s wildest dream reincarnated. Calliope’s confusion grew as she found herself feeling intrigued by where this was going.  
“It’s a sight for sore eyes, indeed, but nonetheless this doesn’t change the fact that I’m still tired, Loki.”  
The attempt to shoo him away was nothing more than a prelude to the game. The female moved closer, slithering through the water soundlessly, like a snake, her eyes transfixed upon Calliope’s in a hypnotic way.  
“Then just lean back and relax.”  
Alluring, honey-sweet voice against her ear. There was a familiar huskiness to it that soothed her. So for once Calliope did what she was told and let Loki do whatever he had planned.  
It was weird, feeling feminine hands that were not her own touch her body. Those lips, full and tempting, following the curve of her jaw; exploring her neck, kissing, biting, sucking. It was exhilarating. A pair of round breasts pressed against her own as Loki moved closer, pushing her legs apart and nestling there, all without ceasing to tease her.  
The steam rose in heavy vapours, creating a hazy halo around the soft flickering flames of the candles. Calliope felt lightheaded, detached from the reality of what was happening. Her mind refused to play along. She hadn’t succumbed when all the ancient Generals tried to intimidate her with their dagger-like stares or ignore her into nonexistence, she would not-  
“Ah!”  
The moan slipped past Calliope’s lips before she could stop it. Two slim fingers entered her without any warning and caught her off-guard, jolting her mind back to the present. Loki always knew when she had spaced out and hated it with unrivalled passion.  
“Did I wake you up, my sweet?”  
There was mock pity in the husky voice against her throat, and a mischievous smirk adorning those lips.  
“But please, do not let me stop you. Such blissful sounds must not be contained. Do proceed.”  
The fingers started moving in a slow, agonising pace. Loki knew the map of her body, knew what she liked, what aroused her, what left her a shivering mewling mess, and he was not ashamed to use it. While the forefinger and middle finger moved in and out of her in lazy thrusts, the thumb drew circles around her bud, sending electric jolts up her spine. His other hand was buried in Calliope’s long burgundy red hair, playing with the strands, untangling them, gently tugging them to get her to tilt her head in a certain direction. And finally the mouth – a vicious weapon that marked and kissed, leaving Calliope panting. Everything Loki did, he did with the single purpose of making her moan, beg, arch in his hands, dissolve into a heap of emotion, of lust, with no rational thoughts to hold her back. He was a cunning man; in this case, a skilful mistress.  
Her body, that traitor, had long ago slipped from her hold and was obliging and responding to the simplest of caresses.  
“Loki!”  
Callie’s voice was raspy, strained, filled with plea and lust. The fingers playing with her lower regions increased their pace, making another strangled gasp slip past her parted lips. Loki’s mouth quickly claimed hers, and the feeling of those full foreign soft lips aroused her further. Hot and aching and no longer as tired, Calliope shifter her body, and slipped one of her hands underneath the water while the other clasped the back of Loki’s neck. ‘So delicate.’ The long black locks felt silky and smooth, in a way familiar underneath her fingers.  
If they were gonna play this game, Calliope decided, then she would show him just how much more she knew of the female body.  
Her hand quickly found its target and all it took was a gentle caress to make Loki’s whole body flinch. Call used the opportunity to shove her tongue into the mouth that had so savagely been marking her neck, silencing a gasp. For a few brief seconds it was a tangle of bodies, hair, digits, breath. Then Loki pulled away completely, almost jumping out of the tub, and if Calliope hadn’t been disappointed at the loss of his touch, she’d have laughed.  
“What bothers you, my princess? Did you think you were the only one who knew how to play?”  
A smug smile appeared on her face as she stared back at Loki. He could tease, manipulate, arouse and make her come, but he could not handle all that happening to him in this form. The female body was sensitive, more so than what he was accustomed to, so touching him when he was like this left the god almost trembling with the sheer force of the emotions. Moving forward, Callie grabbed the female by the chin, angling that pretty face so that she could look at the pair of green eyes that were now blazing.  
“Did you forget who the real woman here is, Your Highness? You may enjoy playing and changing your form, but I know best how to touch you-” she gently trailed her fingers against the alabaster skin stretched over the flat stomach, “in order to make you squirm and tremble-” her fingers enter the warm folds without any warning, quick and merciless, eliciting a mew-like moan, “so what do you say we cut the chase and go to bed?”  
Before she could even retract her fingers, Calliope found herself sprawled over her bed, water dripping everywhere and soaking the bedsheets. Loki, back in his male form, was leaning over her, gazing at her the way a predator looks at his prey.  
In a single trust he entered her, deep, up the hilt, his lips clashing against hers, silencing the small scream, devouring it. A second of equilibrium, of stillness. Then he pulled away, only to thrust back in, harsh, fast, like a punishment, making Calliope arch her back, a bow string pulled at its fullest.  
Loki pounded into her with ferocity and passion, and despair, with lust for more, greed to claim and plunder, to conquer and dominate her. His hands gripped her sides harshly, bruising the skin. She didn’t mind, she liked the pain he inflicted when he got lost in his lust. Later, he’ll kiss those marks and apologise, asking for her forgiveness.  
“Say my name.”  
She did.  
“Again.”  
She obliged.  
“Again.”  
His face was buried in the crook of her neck, his lips against her skin, his teeth nibbling at her as if she was the finest delicacy. His voice was hoarse, his commands harsh, his thrusts deep and fast and Calliope could feel herself quickly approaching her climax. It gripped her and climbed her body and she was no longer aware if she was screaming, or moaning, or saying Loki’s name like a prayer, or merely trying to breathe.  
He could sense when her body started gathering itself for the release, and he thrust into her even faster, gripped her even firmer, bit into her skin harsher.  
“Come for me.”  
And that unravelled her. She shattered. Burst into flames. She was everywhere, and nowhere, and she felt like she had died, but also like she had never been more alive. Her magic wrapped around her like a vine and engulfed the closest object in desperate attempt to ground her mind. Loki’s magic responded and that set off an explosion within them. The world collapsed.

*

He was lying on her chest, his fingers trailing one of the scars she had on the side of her body, his cool fingers causing goosebumps to appear.  
“Did you miss me that much that you couldn’t even wait for after my bath?”  
It was meant as a joke, her tone teasing, but Loki’s body tensed. He went rigid for a second, but soon enough his shoulders eased back and he shifted so that he could look up at her.  
“I’m glad you are back. I was getting bored.”  
Calliope raised a silent eyebrow, seeing straight through his act, but unwilling to call him out. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him up, kissing his lips, reassuring him.  
“Welcome home, my dearest.”


	3. Black Ink

They had had that conversation million times. She would get frustrated with him and his reclusiveness, which would result in a series of pushing and prodding until he snapped. They would often get into a heated debate, borderline physical confrontation. Eventually, she’d find herself with no other option but to storm off.   
Loki cradled his secrets the way a mother holds her child – with uncanny mixture of tenderness and overprotectiveness. It took ages for him to open up to her, a bit at a time, enough to allow him to vent and achieve the occasional piece of mind. But it was never sufficient to sooth the gaping wounds in his soul.   
She could sense them ooze their deadly fluid, contaminate him, make him rot from the inside out. Calliope has fought many battles, some on the wrong side of the chess board, but nonetheless they were all lessons she needed to learn. Nothing in her exceptionally long life has ever left her shivering with cold terror the way the possibility of Loki falling victim to his own mind did. No Giants, no Asgardian elite warriors, no demons. They were all manageable obstacles, something she could either cut through or walk around. Because she could see them. She dragged them in the bright daylight of her awareness and levelled them to the ground. A harsh but straightforward approach that got shit done.   
On the other hand, Loki preferred to ignore his issues until they turned into full-blown problems. His mind was a closed, sealed, enchanted, chained book that he was exceptionally, irrationally overprotective of. No one but himself was allowed to flick through its many pages, examine the content, judge it, burn it, rip it to shreds then put it back together. Occasionally something would slip. A small flicker of a memory, seemingly meagre and pointless, that would trigger a whole chain of other, worse reminiscences. Those, in turn, would bring a whole avalanche of emotions crashing down and even his impeccable self-control would crack. The first time that happened, Callie almost lost her mind with worry. She knew that it was unnatural for someone to undergo such a harsh, 180 degree transformation in a mere flicker of time. That’s when she realised something was wrong with him.   
As any proud man, god or not, his worst fear was showing any form of weakness. How very unfortunate for him, then, to be paired with a woman that would not let him sulk in a dark corner, mull over his existence and slip into the pits of hatred, but slap him back into reality and pry all his precious, overly priced secrets from his chest. Like thorns, they had impaled his heart over the course of his long existence.  
So Calliope tried to coerce him to share with her, to open up and pour his heart out. She was going to be a silent listener, unabated by the worst he has done, to the sharpest words that have cut into him. Anything to take a fraction of the weight off his shoulders, to relieve him of the burden he was so persistent in carrying on his own.   
Yet he would not relent. Occasionally, a slip of tongue would occur and a small fragment of information reached her, but that would be enough to spur her into exploring the topography of his soul. Bits and bobs got collected over time. Some things she had already been aware of (his self-loath), while others surprised her (the feeling of hopelessness). Such clues were episodic and far in between , and while she did have all the time in the world to yank them out of him and dissect and disprove them, a gut-retching feeling left her in doubt of how much longer he could last.  
One day she came up with a better idea. It was by no means fool proof, but it was at least worth a try. Giving him an empty notebook and a black ink pen, she told him to just channel his eloquent and sharp tongue in getting all the bitterness out. Loki, being Loki, had a snarky and degrading remark ready and out of his mouth before she had even finished talking.   
It was a few weeks later when Calliope noticed that the fingertips of her precious God of Mischief were stained. At first she couldn’t quite understand why, but the more she examined his hands, the more flustered and irritated Loki got. Until it daunt on her. The pen probably had leaked, or run out of ink and Loki had tried to change it. Try, being a key word here. Either way, his stained fingers were a sign that he had set in motion what would hopefully be his salvation. Making a mental note to check the ancient oak desk in the library for any stains, she didn’t comment any further. A few months later, during an evening dedicated to enjoying a nice book and a glass of fine wine, a stack of notebooks landed in her lap with a dull thud, making her drink slosh dangerously in the glass. Before she even had time to question the meaning of it, Loki had left the room as silently as he had entered it. Perched like a Babylon Tower on her legs were five identical notebooks. Upon opening one, she found it filled in elegant handwriting. In some places it was neat, while in others it slashed the pages almost breaking through the paper. Callie flicked back to the first page and began reading.  
Black ink filled the whole of her vision for hours. Page after page after page. Some of the words sounded impartial. Like a mere mentioning of something by-the-by, as detached as possible. It was the change of the handwriting that gave away the residue feeling of any emotion. While she read and deciphered, Calliope allowed her magic to wrap around the notebooks and explore the imprint left there. The more she marked progress, the heavier, blacker, thicker it got. By the time she reached the last notebook’s final pages, she could barely stop her body from shaking. Charged, the journals had turned into a channel for Loki’s emotions, a channel in which she was now tapping into. She was drained.   
In all her years of existence, Calliope had never met a man who was filled with so much resentment; who was so lonely and misunderstood. The labels that people had given him had overtime turned into chains holding him back.   
Finally she understood. As the ink had flowed across the pages in the dark hours of the night, so had Loki’s emotions and fears finally taken a tangible shape – something he could one day hopefully face and defeat. With exploring his inner turmoil, he had managed to relieve himself of some of the burden of his shackles. Now that she’s given him a way to vent, to face his worst nightmares, she had set in motion that journey of rediscovery.  
‘Let the black ink stain the pages. Let it run like blood and liberate the body from the hefty spirit of past reminiscence. ‘


	4. Chains

“Only those who are worthy can lift and wield Mjolnir. Or something along those lines, right?” It was hard to keep the complacency in her voice at bay.  
Calliope hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t even dreamt about such an eyeful of a sight, yet here it was, before her.   
“Indeed. I’m hoping you can teach him some better manners, Lady Calliope. He’s been abominable as of recent, and Father is greatly displeased with him. He wanted to have him chained in the dungeons.”  
Thor’s voice was gruff with an underlying tone of aggravation, yet there was also a hint of amusement in there. Seeing his snarky, silver-tongued brother chained with Mjolnir as an anchor was indeed a sight to lift even the gloomiest of spirits.   
“I’ll leave him to you. Mjolnir can stay here for as long as you need it.”  
With a last smug look at his younger sibling, the God of Thunder bowed to Calliope and left the room.  
“I swear to the heavens, you have truly been despicable lately, haven’t you?”  
Kneeling down in front of Loki, Calliope looked at him. Sullen, mad and with a hint of shame, he had been persistently staring at the wall ever since she walked in. Understandable, since now that she was present to his humiliation she’d never stop rubbing it in his face. She had warned him, of course, as a friend does, to refrain from pulling off his little tricks during the ambassadors’ stay in Asgard. Loki being Loki, the first thing he had done was to turn the hair of one of the female guests bright green. A permanent questionable fashion statement. He had managed to maintain a straight face throughout the whole ordeal, but later, when she went to talk to him, Calliope found him snickering in his room.   
The tricks hadn’t stopped there – he had made sure the whole party got to suffer a “misfortune” in one way or another, none of which incriminated him directly. Nonetheless, everyone knew it had been his doing. The last drop in the bucket of everyone’s patience was when he almost demolished the Great Hall by letting a troll barge in, scaring the living daylight out of everybody. Calliope and Thor had to slay the creature and then carry its heavy bulk away. Loki had been suspiciously absent when the accident had occurred, but if nothing else, that made him look even guiltier.   
And now here he was, chained like a wild beast, anchored to the floor by the only thing his magic could not affect, left to the mercy of a woman who knew little of it. Their friendship had developed to a stage where he was aware of had little remorse she had when it came to executing deserved punishment.   
“I was just messing with them. It wasn’t meant to offend anyone.”  
His voice was low, barely above a whisper, and any random observed would have seen regret painted all over his beautiful face. As any naughty child that got busted, he was trying to pull off the innocent look, but Calliope knew better than to fall for it. Again.   
“You let a troll into the palace, Loki. That’s not messing around. That’s violating half the laws in Asgard and jeopardising the lives of everyone.”  
She spoke in a reasoning manner. Not scolding. Not nagging. Not reproachfully or throwing the blame, but just trying to make him see reason.   
“Sometimes I believe that there’s something bad and rotten deep down in your very core that is poisoning you and you see no other way to get rid of it but by acting the way you do.”   
For a first time that evening he lifted his head and looked at her, genuine fear and pain in his eyes. She was focused on Mjolnir, studying its intricate design.   
“Then I think it’s a shout for attention; and your first port of call is to behave like a child, willing to inflict people’s rage upon yourself only to get them to notice you.”  
He said nothing, just tried to read her face, but her long burgundy hair had fallen across it. The long tassels were loose, free from their usual firm braid and now flowed over her shoulders and down her back.   
The chains were firm and tight around his body, rubbing at his skin, leaving him more or less immobile. Shackles bound his hands behind his back, making him arch his back, pulling his shoulders backwards . A very uncomfortable position, indeed. Yet any such discomfort faded in comparison to the words he was hearing, to the implications they held. He could feel the final blow looming over his head.   
She was going to denounce him, the way all the rest had.   
She was going to leave him. Alone. Unwanted. Uncared for.  
He braced himself. One would think he would have been used to this by now. Sooner or later they all left. It was how his world functioned. One by one he drove them away, proving them right; that he was the monster they claimed him to be. It should have been just natural for her to be next. Then why did it feel like a betrayal?   
Loki lowered his head, like a criminal about to be beheaded, and waited. Steeled his heart. Held his breath.  
“Is my attention that dwindling, insufficient and irrelevant, that you go out of your way and seek everyone else’s?”  
A gentle hand brushed away the black locks from his eyes and tugged his face upwards, making him look at her. There was sadness – pure, unadulterated, crystalline sadness written all over her pretty face. Something in Loki’s chest twisted painfully. How had such a ridiculous thought entered her mind? For how long had she been nursing it?  
“If you keep on getting in trouble, Loki, if you keep on walking this path of mischief, you will undoubtedly end in a very dark place.”  
“I’m already there.” Rasp and hushed, the words vibrated in his chest like a growl.   
“I do not believe that. I do not believe you are irredeemably lost to the darkness. I do not believe you are beyond reach, beyond salvation, beyond-”  
Another twist. It made him uncomfortable. The only way he could deal with this thug in his chest was by doing what he did best - be sarcastic and snarky, biting and wounding and drawing blood.  
“Then you are a foolish little girl, gullible and naïve.”  
His voice changed. It had gotten deeper, bearing a cold menacing tune to it. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.  
“If you think I’m a pup you can salvage, then you aren’t exactly smart either.”  
She flinched.  
“I am who I am. The monster they fear and detest; the one they frighten their children with. I haunt their nightmares; make them fear their own shadows and quiver in the darkness like the fools they are. And if you think that a mewling quim like you can beseech me to give up my birth right and be something I’m not, then you are even more aggravatingly pitiful then them.”   
He had hissed, and he had raved, and he had hit where it hurt, because there was no blood left in her face. She would snap now. Hit him, curse him, hate him, leave him, walk away, have him locked in the darkest, deepest dungeon and let him rot.   
“I pity you, Loki. I pity you for all the self-hatred you nurse, for all the fallacy you had submitted yourself to, for all the lies you live with, blind to their true form.”  
The liquefied gold in her eyes blazed and shifted, a hissing wildfire surging to life. Loki could sense her magic weaving itself in the air like a serpent, closing in on him, wrapping around him, destroying all the illusions he had so carefully placed. The colour of his skin changed, the ivory receded into blue, and he felt the cold touch of his Jotun blood course through his veins, singing its melody. Calliope, the warrior forged in the flames of Muspelheim, trained in the art of battle by the light elves of Alfheim, the one whose name was never spoken carelessly, as it instilled fear in the hearts of men, looked at him with eyes that spoke volumes even when her carmine lips were sealed shut. Her skin changed, the lines and runes on the right side of her body glowed. A silent warning in the dim darkness of the room. She sat there, before him, her magic pulsating and blazing and burning, scorching him in a way that brought equal amounts of pleasure and pain. And she looked deep into his eyes, now red like her hair; stared straight into his soul, and with the sheer force of her unshakable will yielded his inner walls to collapse. All the repressed feelings he had locked away, all the pain, betrayal, hurt, disappointment, they all came crashing down at him, crushing and drowning him, making the air rush out of his lungs, his skin prickle, his fists clench. It felt like an eternity of continuous falling in an abyss of pain.  
With a twist of her wrist, it all disappeared and Loki found himself gasping for breath, panting and shaking and sweating. There was, for once, a pure terror in his chest, a pin that prickled at his heart.  
“You claim yourself a monster just because of the blood that runs in your veins. Don’t honour yourself with such a heavy crown, Loki Laufey’s son, for few hearts are sturdy enough to carry it, and yours has yet to learn how to cope.”  
Had it all been an illusion? A trick of the mind induced by her magic? She was good, but not that good, not better than him anyway, of that Loki was certain. It wasn’t in the nature of Calliope’s power to create illusions, and if she actually did manage to conjure one, they were never so vivid and powerful. So then she had truly, finally, shown her real colours to him. What hid beneath her nonchalant expressions, her cool facade, her iron resolve, her level-headed, sharp mind.  
“Monsters always find one another, my dear. We don’t hide in the darkness, we inhabit it.”  
She caressed his cheek gently, as if reaching out to a scared animal. Did she anticipate a flinch? A repulsed withdrawal? Loki remained immobile, silenced for once, just looking at her, but not really seeing her. His brain was working vehemently, piecing together different snippets of information he knew about her, building a better perception of who exactly he was dealing with.   
“I will let you ponder what you learned tonight, in hopes of improving your behaviour in the future.”  
Standing up in one fluid graceful motion, she turned her back to him and headed for the door. With a hand on the handle, ready to leave, she seemed to remember something.  
“But do keep in mind that the next time you offend me in such a way, I’ll burn the skin right off your cynical mouth.”  
Gold clashed with green as she glanced at him over her shoulder. It was a promise, and a joke, and Loki didn’t know whether to smirk or quiver. She was unpredictable just like a natural disaster, like a wildfire that consumed everything in its path. Somehow, during their chat, the young Asgardian prince had found himself infatuated with what could be the only creature out there that could kill him without injuring his body.  
“Aren’t you going to unchain me?”  
Not the best way to go about his current predicament, but he no longer felt threatened. Her fury had passed, or at least subsided sufficiently. The hurt and her injured pride would take a while to recuperate, something he would definitely be made to pay for, but for now he really needed to get out of those shackles and stretch his stiff body.  
“No.”  
With that she walked away, closing the door with a soft click, taking all of the light and warmth with her.


	5. Last Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a traumatising one to write, but hopefully you enjoy it! Feel free to share your thoughts!

The blood was running down in rivulets, soaking and staining the soil. The air was heavy with familiar metallic smell. Big blotches marred the fine green material of his clothes, growing and spreading with each breath he took. Painting her world in a palette of reds, blacks and browns.   
Thor held him, talked to him. For such a big man to shrink so quickly, it was amazing what the devastating sting of pain could do to people. She forced her feet to move. The Midgardian woman, Jane, tried to intercept her, to prevent her from seeing or to comfort her, it didn’t really matter. She yelped and jumped away when the coarse lick of Calliope’s magic whipped across her skin. It sizzled in the air, warming it, accentuating the tint of blood that lingered there, the heavy whiff of iron. One step. Then another. There was no pain. Not yet. Just numbness. And emptiness. There was a void forming in her chest.   
He lay broken, wounded, dying on the cold hard ground. His eyes were closed, his breathing laboured and it took a single look to know his injury was fatal. Her body had forgotten how to kneel, so she simply collapses. Her knees hit the ground, sending jolts of pain up her legs that barely got registered. Thor looked at her, tears brimming his eyes and accentuating their blueness. A hunk of a man, reduced to a wailing child within seconds.  
‘That’s what happens when you attach yourself to someone. You inevitably get hurt.’ Loki’s words rung in her ears, and for once they rung true.   
“Loki…” Her voice was a strangled, chocked sob.  
Yet another person reduced to a wailing wimp.  
“Look at me.”  
He did. Eyes barely open, he followed the sound of her voice and struggled to focus. She was like the flicker of a candle – bright, shifting, not really acquiring a shape or form, but nonetheless there. Warm, almost burning to the touch, but he knew her flame would never harm him. She glowed – all of her; her hair, her eyes, her skin. As if she was on fire, but Loki’s vision had not cleared enough, probably would never do so, so he couldn’t really be sure.   
“Callie…”  
It was a rasp, low and fading. She could see the life draining out of him as the blood kept on flowing.   
“I feel so cold.”  
She laid her hands on his chest, gingerly, and then she buried her face in the crook of his neck, ignoring the painful protest of her body. Her magic erupted like a volcano, in bright flaming red, and wrapped around them.   
“Don’t leave me alone. Please. Not again.”  
Her words were low chocked sobs. There were tears running down her face that sizzled when her magic touched them. The pain in her chest grew, and the void behind it expanded.   
Using the last remains of his energy, Loki’s hand reached up and buried itself in her hair. It felt hot to the touch, he mused, so maybe she really was on fire. His mind was getting hazy, his vision blurred, but he could still make out the distorted shape of his brother in the back, a silent observer.   
Loki had felt the painful penetration of the dagger as it slipped into his body with little restrain. First there had been only shock, he hadn’t been wounded in so long he had forget he could bleed. Then came the pain – searing, overwhelming, agonising, burning though his flesh like poison.   
Not anymore. Calliope’s magic, her warmth, chased away the coldness that had overtaken him. He could sense death, perched at the very corner of his consciousness, waiting for him to finally give in and breathe his last breath.  
He wanted to hug her properly, to hold her one last time, console her. But he couldn’t. Not anymore. He was dying, halfway gone already, but she was clinging to him so desperately that his soul didn’t want to part with his body. Not yet. A little bit longer. A second more.   
“I won’t.” He gathered his breath, knowing it will be his last, and tried to forge the words in the forgery of his mind one final time. “I’ll come back for you… and claim you as mine …. you’ll never be alone again.”   
Calliope felt his magic go out, like blowing out a candle, and knew it had happened. Her worst nightmare. Her greatest failure. She had let someone she loved die. Hatred seared her soul, poisoned her, made her magic turn black. She wanted to rage, to destroy, to kill, to inflict pain and suffrage and agony to all those who had ever wronged her, to the ones that had taken him away from her. She would set their petty homes on fire, see them burn, level their colonies to the ground, leave nothing but cinder and ash behind. Make the nine reals cower in her feet, tremble in the shadows, flinch at the mere mention of her name. She’d-  
“That’s enough, Lady Calliope!”  
Thor’s booming voice snapped her back into reality.  
“He’s gone, my lady, and your pain is as immense as you love for him, but the bloodshed you desire will not bring him back.”  
She stopped and looked at him. He had stepped away as her magic had turned into real, tangible flames and was scorching everything but Loki’s body and her. She didn’t look down. Couldn’t. She stood up slowly and made the fire disperse. Black clouds of smoke rose from the ground.   
Thor said something, gestured for them to move, but she couldn’t hear. There was only white noise in her ears. Thick like a wool blanket. In the dreadful silence of her mind, Loki’s last words echoed like a promise.


	6. Velvet

She paced the length of her room, the shuffled dragging of her dress disrupting the silence. Why had she agreed to this? A banquet! What a preposterous idea!   
The All-Father’s generously was not exactly something she could brush-off without any repercussions, but no punishment would have been as traumatising as being in the limelight for a whole evening, surrounded by the elite of Asgard and struggling to entertain them. It had been Loki’s unexpected intervention, his insistence and eloquent embellishment that had quickly shifted the focus of attention. Thor’s enthusiastic response to his brother’s well-constructed trap sealed the deal, leaving no place for Calliope’s objections. Not that anyone was willing to listen to them. As the birthday girl, her decision whether or not to spend the night in excessive social interactions should have been the final one. As it were, she was left with little choice but to show up and pretend to enjoy herself.  
The dress had appeared on her bed, wrapped in the finest silk, so thin that it was almost see-through, but nonetheless successfully preserving its perfection. She had unwrapped it with the glee of a child receiving an unexpected present. Once the garment was revealed, she was dumbstruck. In her hands she held a bold, exquisite offering. 

*

The material was rich deep olive green velvet. It was so soft to the touch that it reminded her of the moss thriving in the remotest corners of the forests, pure and covered in dew, glistening in the cool morning’s air. Unable to restrain her curiosity and awe and further, she laid out the garment on her bed gently and stripped.   
The dress had a build-in corset at the front to support her breast, amply displayed in all their rounded glory by the low-cut heart-shaped décolletage. To minimise the initial shock of such generous cleavage and to balance out the cut, the off the shoulder sleeves reached her wrists.  
The material hugged her figure, clinging to all the right places like a second skin. It had a mermaid silhouette to it, narrowing down until it reached her knees, after which the fabric spread out, flaring back and pooling into a three-foot long trail. As regal and magnificent as it looked, it would be a nightmare trying to maneuver around the guests without people stepping on it. The more Calliope looked at herself in the mirror, the dress her like a glove, the more anxious she got. It did not feel right, going out dressed like a royalty, when she was a warrior. Let alone in Loki’s colours.   
She had suggested to him, at one point or another, telling everyone about their so-called relationship, courtship, companionship, whatever it was. Seeing the practicality of it, that being no more deluded youths throwing looks at her, and sometimes random pieces of badly patched poetry, it had sounded reasonable to finally put to words whatever there was between them. Now, dressed so blatantly in his colour, with the same luck she could have tattooed his name on her forehead and be done with it.  
Staring at the reflection in the mirror, Calliope regarded this different, more feminine side of her, and wondered briefly what her life would have been like if she had not come to Asgard at all. She’d be less scared, that’s for sure. Less troubled. Probably less happy as well. Her eyes glazed and she let her mind slip, only for a second, to everything her stay here has given her.  
Loki entered the chamber unannounced, as he had the tendency to do, slipping soundlessly into the shadowy corner by the door. His green suited her – it contrasted nicely against her skin and brought out the vivid redness of her hair that for once was not braided, but flowed down her back in curls, styled and contained, as much as one could contain a living fire. Her mind had apparently wandered off, giving him the opportunity to gaze at her without her sharp eyes chastising him. She looked mesmerising– like a nymph plucked from the safety of the forest, her hair ruffled from slumber, her dress the dark moss that covers the ground. A smirk tugged at his lips – only a fool would look at her and think of something as innocent and virginal, as helpless and docile as a nymph. Calliope was more like the feared Valkyries – her skilful hands wielded the fates of many men. He wasn’t an exception.   
“It is almost a blasphemy to have such a sombre look grace your features when you are dressed to conquer, elskan mín*.”  
She looked up, startled, and for a brief second truly resembled a nymph ready to bolt for the trees. Then she frowned, and his fierce Valkyrie was back.   
“I think I told you not to waltz in my room without permission, Loki.”  
Her golden eyes narrowed and she stood up, her back straight, her shoulders tense – it was an admirable attempt at achieving grace, despite poorly executed. The God of Mischief didn’t refrain from sharing his observation.   
“Buzz off!”  
Her half-heartened snarl piqued his attention – she rarely reversed to her Midgardian jargon nowadays. When she did it meant she was put-off by something.  
“What troubles you?”  
His warm breath fanned against her exposed shoulder, right over her runes. The proximity made her lightheaded, so Calliope tried to shuffle away, suddenly getting overwhelmed by the sense of being constricted.  
Slender hands prevented her escape by snaking around her middle and pressing her against a firm chest. She resisted the urge to lean back and try to relax. This was his fault, after all! If he hadn’t opened his mouth…  
He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, nuzzling her hot skin, almost eliciting a gasp. She would not relent! She would not-  
“You look breath-taking, elskan mín. I cannot fathom what has you so agitated when you should be glowing.”  
“This is not me, Loki. This is not how I look.”  
She nodded, vaguely gesturing at the mirror, where her ethereal reflexion, as mesmerising as it was, held a profound sense of sadness to it. He remained silent, studying her in the mirror, his eyes darkening.   
“No, this is not you.” He released her and pulled away, “You wear your armour with much more pride than you wear anything else. Well, that, and all the times you have indulged in walking around naked when you think there’s nobody there to see.”  
Her eyes widened in shock, she was about to turn around and probably hit him. One step ahead of her, in a second he stood before her, grasping her fists and pulling them up to his lips.   
“If you don’t like the dress, discard it. Wear your armour. None of the guests waiting will think any less of you either way. They are all more than perfectly aware that even in the finest of silks you are capable of slaying Giants while remaining immaculately clean.”  
Finally there was a smile, a small sun-lit curve of her lips that brightened her whole face. The tense knots between her shoulder blades eased. She exhaled, and all the pressure left her body. The transformation never ceased to amaze him.   
“I just don’t want to make a fool of myself, that’s all.”  
It was his turn to smile, a small miraculous event which he knew she enjoyed immensely and that always cheered her up.   
“Hardly possible. I’m positive that even if you trip and fall into the fountain, you’ll manage to make it seem like the swooning of a swan and remain as stunning and breath-taking. Don’t underestimate yourself, my dear.”  
“Since when do you have such a high opinion of me?”   
She was teasing him, enjoying how his silver tongue worked wonders on her strained nerves.  
“Do you really think I’ll take a lover that might be anything less than a queen worth a kingdom?”  
It was a question that made her heart skip and skin - crawl. She knew Loki had no true ambition for the throne, not as far as Asgard was concerned. But she had told him she wanted a place of her own, somewhere she would belong, and for him that meant nothing less than a kingdom. If she wanted a throne and a crown, he’d give her a throne and a crown.   
“You truly do live up to all your titles, don’t you?”  
Hushed words ghosted over his lips. She kissed him. After that, it took Loki all his restrain not to rip the dress from her body and take her to bed.   
“Come on, they are waiting.”  
She pulled away first. Her face was flushed, her lips were slightly swollen and there was fire in her eyes. Running her fingers through her hair a couple of times, she smiled at her reflexion, or at him, and headed for the door. This time round, her steps held all the grace and confidence of a queen. The velvet hissed softly as it dragged after her, the embroidery at the ends glimmering as she moved. Glancing over her shoulder, she sported a wolfish grin. He led her to the Great Hall. 

*my love, my darling (Icelandic) 

*  
*  
*

Later on that evening, after all the ale in the barrels was drunk, all the dancing was done, and all the merriment and booming voices had finally receded and drawn to an end, two dark silhouettes slipped soundlessly down the dark hallways. Their outlines were barely visible, the pale moon too weak to cast its glow and reveal their identity to any random passer-by. Their hands were linked, the only thing that connected them. The pace with which they moved was leisurely; a pleasant stroll amongst the shadows, away from prying eyes. For a brief second, a stray ray of pearly moonlight reflected against the polished floor and caught the shifting glimmer of moss. Then it moved, slipped out of reach, with a sound that reminded of the wind running through a forest, disrupting the crowns of the trees, making leaves and flowers shuffle and bend and dance.


	7. Voiceless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember writing this and barely stopping myself from crying. There are some heart-wrenching images around the internet to go along with this that inspired me. Hope you enjoy xx

‘You cannot save every broken soul you encounter, Callie’, the man who raised her used to say. ‘No matter how strong or smart you are, some people are destined to suffer; it’s through pain they grow.’

She didn’t understand what he meant back then. What was the point of her existence if not to be strong enough to save the people she cared for? And what day would that be, when her strength, the pure fire coursing through her veins, would not be enough to aid a soul in need? Her childish mind couldn’t envision a time when she would be helpless. As she ran down the hallways of the palace, past the immense golden pillars, squeezing between the guards that tried to block her way, she remembered those words. Shouts and footsteps followed her; demands to stop, to come back, but she knew she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

The soft tapping of her feet was barely audible as she snuck into the dungeons. The light reseeded. The air was humid and sticky; heavy with the stench of fear and pain. And blood. She ran faster, almost slipping over the slimy tiles as she was taking the turns. After the next corner, she halted, momentary blinded by the sudden light.

_Thump – thump – thump – thump_

She could hear nothing else but the erratic drumming of her heart. Her skin crawled. The breath got caught in her windpipe.

‘… some people are destined to suffer…’

Her eyes stung. _Blink-blink_. The air in the vast chamber was so stale that Callie could see the particles spinning slowly, dancing mournfully as they fell. The coppery whiff of blood made it even harder to breathe. She staggered forwards.

‘… you cannot save everyone …’

The words rung in the back of her head, amidst the silence that had settled as soon as she had stumbled in.

She looked, and looked, and looked and didn’t want to believe what she was seeing. Wished the image before her was a trick, a mirage, a mean to scare her. She was too late. The deed had been done. There was no one else in the room, just him; and her, still lingering in the periphery where the shadows resided; there she was hidden and could pretend for a little bit longer. Pretend that nothing bad had happened. That she had arrived on time. That all this was one of his many awful tacky illusions. He shifted. Even the barest of movements seemed to convey pain. Imply torture. Taking in every detail, Callie’s brain conjured the image of an injured animal, huddled close, wrapped around itself, bleeding, whimpering, shivering, not understanding why such cruelty had been inflicted upon it. Instinctively, she stepped into the light. Her palm pressed against the barrier that separated them, caging him in a tiny prison. The translucent membrane responded with a hiss and sent a jolt of electricity up her arm, leaving a numb pulsation behind.

Loki did not move. As if his stillness would will her to leave, to not see him and just walk away. She could sense his turmoil, his agony; his magic felt like a broken shard of glass, cutting the air, but too weak to inflict any damage.

“Look at me.”

Her voice wavered. He remain immobile, his arms wrapped around his knees, his forehead resting on top, face hidden.

“Look at me.”

She gritted her teeth.

He shifted a little. Tried to turn away from her. Calliope hit the membrane hard, making it growl and send another blast up her arm. She welcomed the pain – it cleared her mind and helped her maintain her façade.

“Please.”

A crack in her voice.

Without any warning, he lifted his head and faced her, allowing the pale ghostly light of his cell to illuminate his face. His gorgeous, pale face. Now scarred. The stitches were rough, the skin - irritated, red and still oozing blood, swollen and angry. They had sown his lips shut. All the blood seemed to have drained out, leaving an unhealthy chalky residue to stain his features. There were smears of blood on his cheek and across his temples. He looked sick, exhausted, prematurely dead. Dark purplish-blue circles underlined his eyes, now two hollowed orbs that were not blazing with malice or hatred or indignity. The green was dim, hazy and dull, and for a split second she wondered if they hadn’t stripped him of his sight as well. He looked like a ghoul.

Calliope examined his face, his body, calculated the damage done; tried to force herself to return to her natural state of pragmatism. She held his gaze, hoping to convey some sense of comfort, to reassure him that everything would be fine, even when in the midst of her own soul she felt empty and knew that nothing would be the same ever again. She could keep up the pretence however; play a role if that would aid him in resurfacing from the black depths he had sunk into. He looked away. Compressed into his shell, tried to disappear. The image of him so broken, stripped of his pride and power, made something in Calliope’s chest twist painfully and then snap.

Banging with her fists at the membrane did little to weaken it. It gleamed back at her, mocking her attempts. In the distance the thudding of feet echoed, heavy and clanging as the guards descended into the dungeons. Driven mad by fury kindled by sorrow, Calliope placed her palms flat against the force field and channelled her power. The lick of electricity was dull in comparison to the heat of her flames. The air sizzled and hissed and became hot, unbearably so. The barrier started vibrating and humming as the force of her power bore down on it like a hammer. It was a matter of moments before it shattered.

In her fury, Calliope had submerged into the remotest corners of her soul. Places where Loki rarely dared to thread. Seeing the extent of her power, watching her channel it and set the stones in the dungeon on fire, shattering his prison, a deed never done before, made something in him perk up. Her skin was glowing and her hair had transformed into a river of fire, glazing down her back, throwing sparks everywhere. He observed passively, somewhere from the depths of his own darkened soul, how she wreaked havoc and destruction, driven by the sheer desire to get to him. Her body pulsated from the exertion. As she sat down next to him, he heard the sizzle of the flames still tangled in her hair, felt the heat lick his cold skin, and then a cloak got thrown over him like a blanket. The consoling nature of the gesture would have infuriated him under different circumstances. Now, he simply leaned into her, pressed his cold cheek against her skin, and finally allowed himself to break. Choked sobs got muffled in his throat, his stitched lips itched and burned. His body started shaking. Calliope pulled him closer, pressed him firmer against the warmth of her chest, pulled the cloak over him, hid him from the prying eyes of the guards that stumbled in moments later.

That’s how they found the couple. Huddled together in the midst of the burning chamber. The air was heavy and hard to breathe as it threatened to scorch their throats, making them cough and choke. No one dared to step into the light and confront Lady Calliope. Her rage, though now subdued, was still palpable in the air. Her uncanny golden eyes were zeroed on them, halting their steps, warning them. They had orders to retrieve her and make sure the punished prince remained in his cell, but as they stood there, under the pressure of her gaze, they retreated. None of them was brave enough to face her wrath. Calliope held Loki long after the guards left, probably to grab the All-Father, or Thor, someone braver than themselves. She held him even after the tears dried out and the shivering ceased. She remained focused on the intruders, willing them to come closer so that she could vent her anger on them, to make someone pay for what had been done. They knew better and remained huddled in the shadows like cattle. The flames around the room hissed threateningly.


End file.
